


Umbra

by Narrendor



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Body Horror, Drowning, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Possession, Suicide Attempt, basically an abusive monster in this precious child's head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narrendor/pseuds/Narrendor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Umbra (n.): A phantom, ghost; shade; shadow cast by the earth or moon during an eclipse; an uninvited guest accompanying an invited one.</p><p>When Grima fails to regain control of its chosen vessel, Robin, it goes for the next in line: Morgan. Strays from canon slightly, taking place somewhere after Validar's defeat, but before his resurrection.</p><p>Inspired by this http://tinyurl.com/n6qwfyf by duckhymn, this http://tinyurl.com/k9koqtm by acetactician, and a lot of sad headcanons my FE cosplay buddies and I have talked about late at night.</p><p>In my FE:A tarot deck, Morgan is the Star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. See, I've come to burn your kingdom down.

It started with a dream, a voice in his head holding his mind captive like a basilisk's prey, paralyzed in pure terror under the reptile's gaze as it slowly crept its way within striking reach.

_You seek power.... and recognition..... and respect... **I have all**. Share my power - accept me into your soul - and you shall be strong.... **fearsomely so**._

Morgan woke with a start, blankets flying and breathing raggedly. He grasped his burning right hand to his chest, where the mysterious six-eyed mark across his knuckles threatened to sear straight through his hand. He stared wildly around, but there was no sign of anyone who could have spoken in that awful voice. It was just a dream. A nightmare. That's all.

The mark had hurt before, but Morgan had always just imagined it was some sort of weird-tattoo-related growing pains or something. Was that a thing that even happened? Regardless, it was never bad enough to worry anyone over. And besides, there must be some explanation for it - he just didn't know it yet - right? No-one else knew what the mark was, and Mother would've warned him of anything dangerous, certainly.

He took several deep breaths, rubbing his eyes, and his heart began returning to its regular pace. Mother would know what to do. He was sure she could explain everything. Everything would be okay.

With that comforting thought, he went back to sleep, and the voice did not return.

 

They were sorting tomes on the floor of Robin's tent a few days later when he decided to ask.

"Mother, this may be something of an odd question, but uh..." Morgan hesitated, not holding her gaze for more than a moment at a time.

"What's on your mind?" Robin smiled reassuringly at him, and he settled some.

"We, uh... We both share this mark, right?" He held up his bare right hand for his mother to see. "Has.. has yours ever hurt before?"

Robin regarded him carefully. Her smile didn't falter, but she felt her eyes cool slightly. "It has in the past, yes. Is it bothering you?"

Morgan swallowed, nervous again. "A-a little. But more importantly, have you ever had strange dreams associated with it?"

"What happened, Morgan?" Her look of concern brought his whole story tumbling out.

"I just... what's going on? That voice - who--" Robin cut him off with a tight hug.

"You're okay," She spoke into his hair, then leaned back to cup his face in both hands and held his eyes with her own. "There is nothing wrong with you." She held his gaze for a moment longer before sitting back among the piles of books.

"I've heard the voice, too, but it's been some time since then. Nothing has come of it, as far as I know." But though she'd meant it to be reassuring, her son appeared only more unsettled, eyes glued to the books around him and tracing the symbols with a fingertip.

Without looking up at her, he asked, "Mother... is this mark an inherited brand, like Aunt Em's family?"

She shifted, smoothing her own fingers over the cover of a tome. "I believe so," she answered, taking care to keep her voice neutral.

"Then whose power are we heirs to?" Now he looked his mother dead in the eye, and the answer hung heavy, yet unspoken, in the air between them.

"Hey." Robin cocked her head at him with a smile. "You're stronger than you think, kiddo. You'll be okay."

That earned her a genuine smile, at last, and they went back to their sorting in amiable silence.

 

It was on her way to her tent one night, weeks later, when the sound of yelling led Lucina to her brother kneeling near the forest edge, grasping his head in pain.

By the time she skidded to a halt in the grass in front of him, it had stopped, and he was staring intently forward, fingers digging tracks in the earth at his sides.

"Morgan?" She asked, quietly, reaching out to grasp his shoulder but stopping just short of actually touching him. She wanted to comfort him, but was wary of the faraway focus on his face. After making so much noise, he was unnervingly quiet and still.

It only lasted a moment, though. At the sound of Lucina's voice, the focus snapped; Morgan looked wildly around with eyes the size of saucers and when they settled on her face, the fear she saw there chilled her bones.

He proceeded to bury his face in his sister's shoulder, shaking, and she knew whatever that was had passed. She held him close, stroking his hair until his breathing calmed. They listened to the sounds of the camp winding down, idle chatter in the distance, and crickets trilling in the brush around them. Life was moving on.

"How can I help?" Lucina whispered after a long while.

"Mother... I need to talk to Mother." She felt his voice more than heard it, murmured into her collarbone. She nodded, but he was clearly exhausted, head heavy where it rested against her shoulder, and back slumped in - no, she wouldn't say defeat. Whatever this was, he was still fighting.

"Why don't you get some rest first? We're planning to camp here for a few days, at least. You're half-asleep as it is, and Mother will be here in the morning." Morgan stiffened a moment at her words, and Lucina wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say, herself, but as he pulled away at last, he nodded.

"You're right, I am awfully tired. Heh, I probably couldn't get the words out right if I were to try to explain it now, anyway." He sketched a smile at his sister, and she helped him to his feet.

They walked to his tent together, and then bid each other quiet goodnights.

 

Fortune did not smile upon their camp, however. A band of Risen attacked from the South before daybreak, and while the battle didn't last long, not hours later the Shepherds received word of more Risen attackers from a nearby port town. Without pause, they packed up camp, and marched for the coast as the sky grayed and a chill wind began tearing red and gold leaves from the treetops.

The fighting seemed endless after that - reports of Risen always another town ahead of them. Robin, dependable as always, kept them all alive time and time again, but fatigue was setting in and injuries were piling up faster than healers could mend them. The nights got colder.

More worrisome to Lucina was how quickly time was passing. She barely saw her brother on the field, but that wasn't unusual since she was a frontline fighter, while he was more comfortable casting spells from behind or in the air. However, when she finally had time to look at a calendar proper one afternoon, she was shocked to realize over a month had passed since she'd found him by the woods that night, and hadn't spoken to him except passing greetings since. They had been that preoccupied.

She still felt badly for it. Was he okay? Had he spoken to Mother about the incident? In no time, she was at his tent flap, calling for him.

No reply.

"Morgan, it's Lucina. I'm coming in." She pushed aside the tent flap to find her brother sprawled across a half dozen books open on his makeshift desk, fast asleep. Her voice had done nothing to wake him, but the light that poured in from the tent opening did the trick, and he raised his head with a groggy "muh?" He squinted at the silhouette in the doorway before Lucina dropped the flap, all apologies for waking him.

"Are..." she hesitated. "Are you okay, Morgan? You look beyond exhausted. Should I come back later?"

"No, no, it's alright. Wha'd you need, Lucina?" He asked, looking at her blearily. Gods, the circles under his eyes were deep, but maybe - maybe - it was just a trick of the flickering candle-light framing his desk.

"Well, have you talked with Mother about what happened that night? It's been a few weeks." She asked in what she hoped sounded like a concerned voice and not like a nagging sister.

"I... haven't had a chance. We've all been so busy. If we're not fighting, we're marching, and Mother and Father are always discussing tactics and supplies and such when we do have downtime, so..." He trailed off, looking dully at one of the texts on his desk, dog-earing a page and smoothing it back out. Lucina noticed he was wearing gloves under his usual light bracers. When had he started doing that?

"How about right now? I know they're not busy - I just saw Father cleaning his equipment, and Mother was headed toward-"

"No, it's fine." The dark resignation in his voice dropped a stone in her gut.

"I... but you..." She stuttered, at a loss for words.

"I'm working it out. Don't worry about me." Morgan continued, looking up at her with a small smile that did not reach his dark-framed eyes.

 _You're clearly **not** fine_ , she wanted to say, but he was looking at her with a quiet defiance she was so not used to seeing that it stunned her into silence. She was left standing there, searching his face for answers to all the glaring questions she couldn't seem to ask.

There was a long pause before Morgan turned away and said, "Um, if that's all, I should get back to studying." It was a clear dismissal, and Lucina couldn't think of anything further to say or do, so she simply turned and left.

 

Morgan carefully avoided looking at his sister as she left his tent, waited until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore, then slowly put his face in his hands. The shocked look on her face was burned into the backs of his eyelids, but as much as he hated himself for sending her off without telling her anything, he didn't want her to worry. He was too afraid to tell her the truth, afraid of one of the closest people in his life turning on him. He saw what happened when she accused Mother of being a threat, and now, he--

Pain flared on the back of his hand and in his head. Without a sound, Morgan grit his teeth while burying gloved fingers in his hair.

_You are growing weaker, child. Why do you still resist?_

_I don't WANT your power! You're threatening my family, my friends, my country. Your power does nothing but cause pain and destruction!_

_And you, mere human, are such a paragon of virtue?_

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_You are hurting your sister, pushing your family away, selfishly and arrogantly believing you can solve this great problem all by yourself._

_. . ._

_Pitiable, really._

_Don't you pity me._

_Oho! Such spirit, still. You will be fun to break._

_STOP IT!_

The voice merely laughed before it departed again, and as the pain faded, Morgan rested his clammy forehead on the desk once more. He couldn't let it win. He had held up this long, and while he wasn't as strong as Lucina or Father, or smart as Mother, he could beat this thing. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song Seven Devils by Florence + the Machine.


	2. How can I talk you down from that ledge unless you let me in?

"I don't think he'll lash out. He's not dangerous to anyone else, he's just..." Lucina looked from one parent to the other, worry written all over her face.

"He's self-destructing," Robin commented quietly. She hadn't said a word as Lucina told her and Chrom of that night she found Morgan clutching his head by the woods, and also their encounter today, her brow merely creased with growing concern the more her daughter told them.

"Well, how do we stop it?" Chrom gestured in the direction of their son's tent. "We can't just let him endure this alone. We're a family, and Shepherds. We fight together."

"As nice a speech as that is, I don't think this is something we can fight with steel, Chrom." _Not yet, anyway,_ she thought. _I just hope my theory is incorrect._

"But... he said you could help, Mother." Both Lucina and Chrom looked imploringly at her, and Robin quickly raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Oh dear, I'm not saying I can't! It may just be tricky." She resettled herself on her stool, worrying a hangnail with her other hand. "You see, Morgan and I share a special mark, much like the brand of the Exalt. However, while both of yours is blessed by the power of Naga, Morgan and I have the touch of Grima."

Robin wasn't sure what to expect, but to their credit, her husband and daughter remained quiet for a time, lost in thought. Chrom spoke up first.

"What do you think is happening? I know you have ideas. You always do."

"Well... I think that Grima is attempting to take over our son's mind and make him its human vessel, as it attempted with me." She said calmly, wincing inwardly at the outburst she expected upon hearing this news.

Lucina's eyes widened and mouth opened to exclaim something, but Chrom steadied her with a hand on her shoulder and looked at Robin with perhaps the most serious face she'd seen on him. "I trust you would have told us if it was getting beyond your control." Robin thanked him with a look. "However, I'm unsure if Morgan knows his limits as you do. How do we help him?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "Of that, I'm uncertain. Without talking to him about it, I don't know how far... well, how much of a hold Grima has on him - _if_ he has a hold on him at all." She added, noticing Lucina flinch.

Chrom rubbed his chin. "Lucina, you know him best. How would you approach him?"

Startled, she looked up at her father. "But I--"

"He's right, Lucina. We haven't spent as much time with him as you have." Robin put in.

"I... Well, he'll likely feel cornered if we confront him about it directly, but I don't know if there _is_ any other way."

"Then it should probably be you who does it." Lucina paled, but accepted her father's words.

"I'll try," she said with a small nod.

Robin smiled up at her. "That's all we can ask for."

 

The Risen gave them no respite. And if it wasn't Risen, then it was bandits, pirates, or assassins. The royal family was very much aware of the ticking time bomb in their midst, but there was simply no time to deal with it. Everyone was exhausted, their supplies running thin and tempers high, and the cold mountain pass they were traversing at present didn't help their poor spirits. At least the snows hadn't set in yet. Finally, Stahl approached Lucina on the road as they were watering the horses.

"Lucina, is everything alright with your brother? He's been jumpy and distant of late, and some of the soldiers he's been teamed up with in recent battles have remarked on a certain... bloodthirstiness to his casting. And he seems to have trouble sleeping."

She wasn't surprised that Stahl noticed something amiss - he was rather insightful about the other Shepherds - but Morgan? Bloodthirsty?

"Thank you for telling me, Stahl. He's... been working through some personal matters recently. I'll talk to him - I hope the others aren't too worried."

He rubbed his nose, relieved. "Thanks Lucina. We care for him, is all. I hope he feels better soon! He sure looks tired."

If she'd been waiting for a sign to act, this was it.

She found Morgan sitting on a fallen tree trunk at the edge of camp, poring over a new tome. A cold wind blew Lucina's hair across her eyes, and as she pushed it back, she smiled some to see her brother make an identical gesture.

He didn't look up, but evidently heard her approach, as he said "I'm sorry, but I'm rather busy at the moment. I would rather not have company."

_Brrr,_ Lucina thought.

"Morgan, it's me. I need to talk to you." The boy jumped, nearly dropping his book, and looked up at her.

"Lucina! I-I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you."

"May I sit down?" She motioned to a spot on the log next to him, and he nodded after a brief hesitation.

They sat in awkward silence until Lucina decided enough was enough.

"I told our parents about what's been going on with you." She looked up to see what colour there was in Morgan's face drain from it. He looked about to make a run for it, so she continued carefully.

"They want to help you, Morgan, just like I do."

He wouldn't meet her eyes and mumbled something she couldn't hear.

"Pardon?"

"Y-you... can't." He said, haltingly. "No-one can help me anymore."

"Hey--" Without realizing it, Lucina reached out to her brother, but immediately knew it was the wrong move. He fled up a narrow path and disappeared around the bend.

A light snow began to fall.

 

_You see? Even your closest allies betray you in the end._

_No, she just cares..._

_If you believed that, you wouldn't have run away. You would have let her try to help. Not that she can._

_What?_

_You said so yourself: 'no-one can help me anymore.'_

_I... don't really believe that._

_Ahahahaha, **sure** you do._

Leaning back against the rock face, Morgan held his hood tighter around his face, hot tears soaking into the soft lining.

 

By the time the horses were cared for and the Shepherds ready to march on, Morgan had still not returned to the clearing. At the sound of the lead group's horn, Lucina finally got up and went to find her mother. She didn't have far to look, moving against traffic as she was. Robin read the serious look on her face and pulled her aside.

"Where is he?" She asked, voice low.

"Up the Eastern bridlepath, the one Lon'qu scouted earlier." Lucina replied, matching her mother's tone. After a short pause, she added, "He's scared."

"Stahl talked to me, too." Robin sighed, watching the troops moving off. She worried at her lip, and Lucina could see the gears moving in her head. Finally, she turned back to her daughter.

"We can't leave him here. You go on up, and I'll follow once I catch your father and a few friends." Lucina's eyes widened and Robin added, "People he knows and trusts, to protect us _all_ on our way back to the main group. The pass isn't safe, scouted or no."

Lucina nodded, but she couldn't help think they'd be along for another reason. She shook her head, banishing the thought, and started walking.

_They're leaving without you._

_. . ._

_You don't matter after all._

_Stop it._

Morgan quit his pacing and continued up the path, careful to keep away from the steep drop at the outer edge. The endless ache in his head and hand drowned out the cold for the most part, but he shivered anyway.

_Running away again?_

_I'm just... clearing my head._

" _SHUT UP!_ " He didn't realize he'd shouted until his words echoed back off the rock faces stretching in all directions around him.

"Morgan?"

He spun at his sister's voice behind him. Concern and... something else written on her face.

_She's afraid of you._

He ignored the voice. "Lucina! I, uh, was just about to head back to the group."

Lucina continued, "Mother and Father are coming, too. We've brought some friends to protect us on the way back."

_To protect them from **you.**_

He stared at his sister with wide, fearful eyes. His hands shook - from cold, pain, or adrenaline, he couldn't say.

Her voice was steady. "The pass isn't safe."

_From **you.**_

"You know them - Stahl, and Lon'qu, and Frederick--"

_They're here to capture you._

"--just come back with us. It'll be more comfortable back with the Shepherds."

_They're hunting you._

"Please, Morgan." Lucina held a hand toward him. "You're _not bad_."

_THEY KNOW YOUR SECRET_.

Morgan staggered a step, hands gripping his head with a dull moan, just as his parents and their party came around the bend.

 

Chrom wanted more than anything to rush to his son's side and strike down whatever invisible opponent was tormenting him, but Robin put an expectant arm out in front of him. She caught his eye and shook her head, face drawn and pale.

"If we push him, and Grima takes him, he may be too much for even us to handle."

Chrom's eyes widened and he looked back at Morgan, hunched over and wavering with his head in his hands, and could not imagine a less dangerous-looking person, his child or not. He trusted his wife's word, however.

He turned to the three standing behind him. "Okay, Shepherds. No sudden movements, no weapons in hand, unless the worst happens."

"Milord," Frederick leaned forward, voice low. "By 'the worst', you mean him attacking, correct? You would have us strike him down?"

Chrom inhaled sharply at such blunt phrasing, but could only nod solemnly. To their credit, his friends looked to feel about as miserable at the idea as he.

Lucina, still a short ways away, had not heard the exchange. "Brother?" She called. "Are you alright?"

A low chuckle emerged from the boy as his hands dropped to his sides.

"Your little brother isn't here right now."

The sly grin on Morgan's face and silky menace in his voice made the hairs on the back of Chrom's neck stand on end. This was not his son.

 

Lucina stared down the imposter in her brother's body, unsure of what to do. Her hands itched for her sword, every nerve screaming "danger!" at her, but this was _Morgan_. He was not her enemy.

He took a step toward her. Then another. Then ran the last few yards until he was inches from her, and pure instinct drew her Falchion between them. She saw movement at the corner of her vision and glanced towards her parents: they had stayed put, tensely watching their children, but Frederick, followed closely by Stahl and Lon'qu, had weapons in hand and were edging nearer.

"No! I'll handle this!" Lucina wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on Morgan. She could help him, protect him. He was still in there, somewhere. He had to be.

The boy leaned closer, radiating heat and breath steaming out in great puffs. His neck rested softly at Falchion's edge, and he took the blade gently in both hands. She noticed the gloves' stitches had come apart in places, and his fingertips were casually growing longer - no, _sharper_. Claws were forcing their way through leather, and beyond the tears and gaps, Lucina could see dark, scaly skin where her brother's pale hands should be. The tiny snowflakes lacing their way around them melted before they even touched him.

"Come now, Lucina. You wouldn't hurt your dear baby brother, would you?" The sickly-sweet look on not-Morgan's face made her skin crawl.

"Let him go." She was relieved when her voice didn't crack.

"What, and give up a comfy vessel? Nahhhhhh. He suits my needs quite well." He blinked lazily at her, and she had an idea.

"If you needed one of Robin's bloodline, why not take me instead?" Perhaps she could lure him out--

"Oh, believe me, I considered it. You have the blood, the potential, and _my_ , would you be strong - but you were far too... _good_ ," he spat. "I needed a vessel with a little rust around the edges. Tarnished. Darker."

"What are you talking about? Morgan is one of the sweetest, kindest, most selfless people I know! There's nothing dark about him!" Lucina growled back, outraged to hear such a stain on one of her family.

Stroking Falchion's edge with long-taloned fingers, not-Morgan cocked his head to one side and gave her a grossly amused look through half-lidded eyes.

"So sure of that, are you?" He smirked. "Second born, second best. Outranked and outmatched by Big Sister. Not as strong as Father, nor as smart as Mother. Back of the pack, just another mage, another helping hand. Invisible. Weak."

"No," Lucina choked. This is what Morgan had been dealing with all this time?

The monster continued, a wicked grin stretching across her brother's face. "Not only that, but he was secure in that place. No greatness or feats of heroism expected of him. It was comfortable, _easy._ The coward _enjoyed it."_ That's when his words lost their hold on her.

" _NO!_ " Lucina shouted, jarring her sword against him. He backed a step, and she reveled in the surprise on the intruder's face. "Fearful and a flighty sometimes, maybe, but _never_ a coward! He's been fighting you for this long, and if I know my brother half as well as you think you do, I know he's stubborn enough to keep trying, damn it!"

She pushed him back another step and screamed in his face, "Morgan, I _know_ you're still in there! _FIGHT BACK!_ "

 

Morgan was on fire. He felt simultaneously scathing hot and frigid cold along every fiber of his being, yet his body was somehow still moving and his mouth speaking. And it somehow wasn't him doing the talking and moving. His voice was emerging from his throat, but they weren't his words. No, it wasn't pain or heat or cold he was feeling, it was an innate sense of _wrongness._

He was suddenly back in control of his body, and _now_ he felt pain, as well as the certain knowledge that he couldn't maintain control for long. Lucina, his dear sister, held Falchion to his throat and, looking down, he saw his hands, scaly black and warped into claws, softly grasping the blade.

"Lucina," he rasped out of a dry, raw throat. "Stop him. Please. Kill me while you have the chance."

The hope that lit in her eyes when he spoke her name was snuffed out just as quickly as it came.

"What?! NO! I can still save you--"

"I can't hold him off for long." He cut her off. "Just do it while I'm still me."

"No..."

"Then--" He pushed away from her and stumbled his way toward the steep drop at the edge of the path.

"Don't you dare!" Lucina dropped her sword and launched herself onto her brother, tackling him to the ground. "You promised never to leave me alone! WE MADE A DEAL, BROTHER!"

"Lucina, let me--!"

And the world went dark.

 

Lucina wrapped her arms tightly around her brother's middle as they fell to the rocky ground. He thrashed in her grip, still trying to reach the cliff edge, but she couldn't - _wouldn't -_ allow him to end his life. She'd vowed to protect him at all costs.

"Lucina, let me--!" His scream cut off and he suddenly fell limp. The scaly darkness on his hands was spreading, black smoke lifting from his skin and twisting in oozing masses before the wind whipped them away. She looked on in horror as the mark on his hand inked its way across his face, six eyes and sharp angles stark against his pale face.

She propped herself up on an elbow and reached a hesitant hand up, palm cupping his cheek.

"Broth--?"

Dark static exploded outward from him, sending Lucina tumbling back down the path to where her parents and the rest of their party stood. Frederick and her mother helped her up, and Chrom and the other swordsmen took up defensive stances before them. Through the gaps in armor and blades before her, she saw Morgan slowly rising to his feet, crackling with black and red magic and dark smoke pouring from the openings in his clothes. Six eyes opened on his face, all glowing red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song Unstable by Anberlin.


	3. All the good souls, stand unafraid.

It was dark, and Morgan was floating. Sort of. No, there was something solid beneath his feet. He was standing. He supposed his eyes were adjusting to the darkness; he could now see that he stood upon a barren plain, hard, heat-cracked earth stretching in every direction. There was no sound, but a soft wind graced his face, and when he turned to it, he saw a faint light in the distance. He started walking, mind blank but for the simple goal of following the light. There were stars above, but this was different from the starry sky he knew. He had no sense of time here, but he knew it must be passing, because the light was growing nearer. It's source, he found, was an odd glowing lake, at the shore of which grew a dark-boughed tree.

A hooded figure, eyes shrouded, leaned against it. He felt no apprehension at approaching the stranger, however; he knew that this person would do him no harm. The ground softened to fine moist earth a few paces from the water's edge, pleasant compared to the hard-baked turf behind him.

"Hello, Morgan." A pleasant female voice spoke from under the hood. She wore a tactician coat, identical to his.

"Hello," he replied, with a polite bow. "What's this?" He gestured to the water.

"What does it look like to you?"

"Why, a lake, of course." He thought that was obvious.

"Ah," she smiled. "Of course."

"So, uh, what's in there?" He asked, leaning a small ways over the flawless, mirror-like edge. It reflected his face and the stars above him with perfect clarity, yet somehow also gave off a white-gold light. Bioluminescent algae? Perhaps he could bring some home to show--

"Naga." The hooded girl said simply.

"C-come again?" Morgan retreated from the edge hastily, squinting at the speaker.

"Truly!" She chuckled at his bewilderment, but sobered before continuing. "See, you're here right now because your body is caught between two very powerful forces. Grima tapped into your potential first, but you are an equal heir to Naga's power. You simply have to let her in."

Memories flooded his mind, right up to the point when Lucina tackled him and...

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees and letting out a gusty breath. "So I'm not dead."

"Nope!" This girl's optimism was boundless, it seemed. "Quite the opposite. Though Grima _is_ making a bit of a mess with your body right now."

Morgan straightened and faced her abruptly. "How do I go back?"

"I'd hoped you'd say that." She smiled brightly at him and stepped away from the tree. He remarked they were the same height. She was tall, for a girl. "Y'know all that cracked, dry ground out there? Well, pour some of this on it."

"That's it?"

"Mmm-hm!"

He stared around for a bucket, or cup, but there was none to be found. Wisteria hung from the tree's branches, but the leaves scattered about it were beyond his reach and too small to hold anything near a useful amount of water. He knelt down at the shoreline, loath to break the surface of such calm water, but as his hand touched the surface, he realized he couldn't. It was frozen solid.

"Not so simple, is it?" The cloaked girl teased.

"How am I supposed to--"

"Gotta figure that one out by yourself!" With a cursory look over her shoulder, she added, "Best get moving, though. Clock's ticking." True to her word, black, rumbling clouds were forming on what he could only call a horizon, advancing ominously. A fork of lightning lanced to the earth maybe a mile away. If he was generous.

Rising to his feet, Morgan stared out across the icy expanse and noticed something in the middle. Was that a table? With a glance at the stranger, he took a timid step out onto the ice. He'd seen a friend nearly drown after falling through the ice last Winter, and he'd been wary ever since. _Sensible_ , he thought.

He made his way out to the center of the lake - further than he'd expected - but the ice made not a sound. The stormclouds behind him, on the other hand, rumbled their way closer. The soft breeze from earlier wove around him, as if beckoning him quicker to the small round table. A single, silver goblet rested upon it. It was plain but for a faint etching he could not make out until he picked it up. He only had a moment to recognize the Brand of the Exalt before the ice gave a mighty groan beneath him.

He sprinted for the shore, making a beeline for that dark, wisteria-draped tree and hooded figure beside it. But he wasn't fast enough. Deep cracks broke the ice in all directions, shards of light pouring through the openings, and though his feet found purchase as best they could, he was no match for the crystalline angles jutting up and around him. He took a huge breath and clamped his eyes and mouth shut just before hitting the frigid water.

Morgan had never felt so cold in his life. The water leeched away his body heat in seconds, and his coat was dragging him down like an anchor, despite his thrashing. The silver goblet was still firmly in his grip, apparently frozen to his hand, since he couldn't shake it loose. _Excellent._ Already his hands weren't working. His lungs screamed for air. He finally let out the breath he'd been holding, and sucked in a great gulp of water. Coughing was useless at this point, he knew, but he still spluttered and coughed before inhaling more water. His airway sealed shut, the cold water burning his lungs from within, as a sense of calm began to envelop him.

 _'Let her in,' huh?_ he thought, with an attempt at bitterness. _What a joke._ He faintly wondered what the glowing lake looked like from underwater, and wrenched open his eyes for a last look.

What awaited him were a pair of huge, emerald eyes and a mane of long green hair fluttering about a serene, if amused face. These, combined with long, pointed ears and a slight frame marked her as a manakete, at least to Morgan's knowledge. He realized he was no longer struggling to breathe. Instead he felt incredibly at peace, as though floating.

"Rough day?" Naga asked. The kind presence before him could only be her.

"You have no idea." Morgan replied, though he wasn't certain he actually spoke aloud.

"Oh, I can imagine, youngster. But you made it this far," She countered. "You're a fighter."

"Don't you mean was? I drowned, didn't I?" The laugh he let out was more of a bark. "Honestly it's something of a relief."

"You're not dead." Startled, he met her eyes again, and knew she wouldn't lie.

"Then, what..."

"You've passed my test. You have my blessing, Morgan of Ylisse." She smiled warmly at him.

He just stared at her, dumbstruck.

"Well, get going. Don't put this whole ordeal to waste." She winked at him, and the ground rushed up to meet him. He was suddenly standing knee-deep in lukewarm water at the lake's shore, goblet in hand. He mechanically scooped up some of the glowing liquid, and clambered soggily out of the shallows, staggering the last few steps before collapsing to his knees in the soft earth. He tipped the cup, watching as spun gold poured out onto the dry, scaly wasteland.

Instead of soaking into the ground as he'd expected, it flowed into the cracks and spread, gaining speed as it went, tiny golden rivulets lighting up and expanding into a great glowing web as far as the eye could see. The cracks glistened with such vibrant light, Morgan could no longer look at the ground directly. The stars above joined in, and shone equally bright. The dark thunderheads that had advanced nearly to the water's edge fled from sight, and the light all around was overbearing. He shielded his eyes, nearly blinded, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Good luck, Morgan. May we meet again, in another time." Though her hood was still drawn, the blinding light around them made the tactician girl's face clear. She could have been his twin.

"Who--"But the light overwhelmed him, and before he could say another word, he was back in his own body, blinking blearily at four blades and a tome aimed at him.

 

All six of their party were breathing hard. The icy mountain wind tore at their clothes and snowflakes pricked at their eyes and snuck in every tiny opening it could find. Until a moment ago, Morgan - or, Lucina supposed she should say, _Grima -_ had given them no respite, battering them with blast upon blast of a dark magic she had never encountered before. Were any of them to stand alone against him, they would not have lasted a minute. As it were, they had fought long and hard together, in both this time and the future-past, and flowed easily from one defensive stance to the next while watching each other's backs. While they'd minimized the damage well, they had barely managed to gain any ground; he'd kept them out of melee range, and Robin's spells, powerful as they were, merely bounced off the arcane shield he'd summoned. The grim set of the tactician's face did not bode well.

But then he stopped. His eyes widened as the crackling shield dropped. A gust of wind threw hair in his face and he sidestepped to rebalance himself. Lon'qu saw the opportunity and lunged forward, but Chrom's voice rang out with undeniable command:

" _STOP!_ " And then quieter, "Look."

Bright, white-gold light was seeping through the shredded glove on Morgan's left hand. It spread up his arm, forming cracks along his skin, and slowly, papery flakes of the dark film that had nearly consumed his face began to flake like petals from a tree. Claws eroded away before their eyes in ashen slivers, leaving blessedly normal fingertips in their wake. The last of the odd, six-eyed mark on his face was pared away by another blast of wind, and his pale skin glowed faintly once more before his eyes fluttered open.

Morgan blinked a few times and peered in confusion at the group facing him, before teetering precariously near the edge of the path. Lucina dashed forward and managed to catch him before he fell. She sat, hugging him tightly to her chest, until he reached a shaky hand up to pat her arm - a little awkwardly, given the odd angle he had to bend his arm to do so. A small voice wound its way up through the tangle of hair and cape and coat in her arms.

"Luffina, you're fmodering me."

"Oh!" She loosened her hold on him enough to see the weary smile on his face, but not enough for him to roll off her lap. She wasn't letting him go again.

"Hey." He wheezed, beyond tired and clearly content to lay right where he was.

"I knew you'd come back." She smiled back at him, fresh tears of relief on her cheeks.

 

Morgan heard blades being sheathed somewhere behind his sister and recognized their parents' footsteps as they approached. Chrom and Robin's faces swam into view over each of her shoulders. He swallowed, looking guiltily up at them and was grimly amused to feel what little strength he had left tense his body in anticipation of a sound verbal thrashing. Gods knew he deserved it, after all the trouble and worry he'd--

"Hey, now, kiddo. Stop worrying." His mother reached down with a soft chuckle to smooth his bangs to one side. Unruly as ever, the hair bounced right back to the middle of his forehead. All three faces above him grinned at that.

"Welcome back, son." Chrom's soothing baritone made its appearance. "Feeling alright? Alone in your head again?" Robin shoved her husband for that, mostly joking.

"Heh, yeah. I think so." Morgan said, voice hoarse. "Though I could really use a nap."

"Not there on the ground, I hope." Lucina laughed, and he and their parents laughed with her. He was miraculously alive, his family safe, and he intended to keep it that way.

 

* * *

Camp was winding down for the night, a few days later. Chrom had explained the incident on the pass -and their absence for several hours that day - as a private family matter. The story wasn't far from the truth: that the young prince had been dealing with some personal demons, but he was alright and the affair was put behind them. The Shepherds had welcomed him back warmly and without further question. Life returned to normal.

He and Lucina had each spoken at length with their parents about what happened, Morgan more than his sister, but they'd all agreed to keep the extent of his, well, _possession_ , to themselves. Telling his parents had been tough. In all honestly, he would never forget a moment of his ordeal, but was still uncomfortable sharing any of it. It made him feel weak to admit his loss of control. They had been nothing but supportive, however, and for that he was eternally grateful.

Morgan said his goodnights early, planning to catch up on sleep now that he was able. He wore gloves still - though they'd been replaced after the incident on the mountain pass - mostly for warmth, but he was also a bit frightened that someone in camp might recognized Grima's mark, and suspect him of turning on them. Months of paranoia was difficult to let go of, apparently.

Back in his tent, he tucked some bricks, warm from the great bonfire at the camp's center, into his bedding. He removed his boots and hung up his coat, now-bare arms shivering slightly, and undid the clasps on his bracers. Finally, he removed his gloves. The right, as always, bore the Mark of Grima. His left, however, while previously plain, now displayed the Mark of Naga.

Standing in front of his small desk, he traced the new Brand with his fingertips, lost in thought. His parents knew about it, of course; he'd shown them as soon as he'd seen it, himself, but it was still so unfamiliar to his eyes. It wasn't unpleasant, just... odd. He'd been eighteen years with Grima's mark, and only four days with this one.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan looked at his reflection in the small mirror leaning against some books on his desk. He was heir to great power and responsibility; his twice-royal blood was proof of that. In the future, Grima may tempt his control again, but he knew Naga would aid him as well. Now, he had balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song Soft Skeletons by Anberlin (you caught me, I love this band).  
> Also, remember I mentioned the Star arcana? Take a look at that card alongside the frozen lake.

**Author's Note:**

> AUGHHHH, THIS FAMILY KILLS ME. I adore Morgan and Lucina as siblings, and I just had to write something for them. This is babby's first FE:A fic, and certainly the longest thing I've written since, like... high school? A college paper, perhaps? Anyhow, I'm super pleased with how it turned out, and hope you like it, too!
> 
> Cross-posted to tumblr: http://narrendor.tumblr.com/post/111530112367/umbra  
> And make sure to go show acetactician and duckhymn some love - their works got the gears moving here, and their art is lovely!


End file.
